


I Know If I'm Haunting You

by Achrya



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Character Death, Language, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Achrya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(My Nano fic. Come with me on this journey to 50k) </p><p>Sam is a prince on the run in the midst of a political coup against his father, tasked with finding the Avenging Knights, the former protectors of the kingdom who were branded as traitors and murderers then sentenced to death before fleeing the kingdom. He's not sure which is worse, being hunted by the Knights of Shield and the church or having to put his trust in a group of demon touched criminals.<br/>Steve is tavern owner who isn't as human as he used to be but still holds his humanity tightly. Maybe once upon a time he was The Captain, leader of the Avengers, but there's a lot of years and betrayal between that person and who he is now. And yet when Sam falls into his lap he finds himself agreeing to go back and protect the very people who tried to destroy him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writting fic for NaNoWriMo. This is a bit rough (okay, a lot rough. ;)) because I'm just slamming out words and not doing the usual amount of tweaking and editing but hopefully it's still readable and fun.  
> Inspired by The 7 Deadly Sins, which is currently watchable on Netflix. It's fun and cute, if you're into that sort of thing. This follows that path but crams a lot of MCU elements into it and is maybe a little darker in spots.

Steve stretched, yawning widely, before running his rag over the tabletop. The tavern had been jam packed ar into the early hours. Every seat had been taken, and at a couple points people had even taken to standing as they drank, having come from all around in order to sample their in-house ale and not being willing to wait. Any place they set up tended to yield them patrons in short order and this place was no different. Word of Friday, the traveling tavern, tended to spread like wildfire through dry brush.

This time they’d settled in one of the villages closer to the capital, about 7 days travel on foot from the royal city. They had never come this close to the capital before but Friday tended to go where she wanted to go, regardless of what they actually wanted, and they just held on for the ride.

Magic taverns were just like that he supposed.

He looked up at the sound of the kitchen door swinging open. Bucky shuffled out, pushing a bucket full of water and mop in front of him.

“We’re never getting to bed. We’ve got piles of dishes in the back, kegs to tap, and everything out here to finish up.” Bucky listed, glaring at Steve as if it were his fault. “If you had let me clear people out earlier we’d be done with this.”

Steve shrugged sheepishly. He had, admittedly, kept pushing drinks out until nearly sunrise but how could he not? He enjoyed the chatter, the crush of people around him, the ringing laughter, the feeling of being surrounded by life, and the concert of heartbeats pounding in time.

He was certain Friday enjoyed it as well. Things always seemed brighter and the ale a bit more flavorful after a busy night.

Bucky shook his head. “Whatever. Next time I’m calling it a night and leaving you to handle things alone.”

“You always say that.” Steve pointed out as he moved to the next table. “But here you are, whining at me. Again. And it never stops you from spending the silver we make.”

If deadly looks had been Bucky’s specialty Steve would have collapsed on the spot. Lucky for him his friend’s talents laid in other areas so, after a few seconds of subjecting Steve to an incredibly shitty look, the brunette huffed in annoyance and focused on aggressively mopping the floor. Steve watched his friend for a moment, impressed as always at Bucky’s ability to make even the most basic of tasks look like an intensely frustrating encounter, before returning to his own work.

All teasing aside finishing up so they could get a little rest before opening up again would be good for both of them, though more so for Bucky than him. Under all the magic, affection for sharp objects, and terrible attitude his best friend was still more or less human.

Closer than Steve was anyway.

Depending on how you looked at it.

Steve looked over at Bucky again. Tan skin flushed with ale and effort from cleaning, gray blue eyes clouded with annoyance, long brown hair, shaved on the sides and then tied back to keep it out of his way, and a hint of stubble along his jaw.

He was getting older and it made Steve nervous; nothing good could come of it. If he would have had to guess he would have said Bucky looked early to mid thirties, whereas Steve looked the same as he had since he was twenty-four. Time wasn’t on the brunette’s side.

Aging was a symptom of being alive and Bucky suffered from it. Slower than a normal human, yes, but it was creeping up on him nonetheless. It came for everyone with a heartbeat eventually. 

He turned his attention section of wall they used for notices and wanted posters. Sometimes customers came through and put information they wanted to travel the country up but the wanted posters never changed. They didn’t fade or rip or yellow, in spite of how long they’d been pinned in place, all eight of them neatly drawn and carefully inked, boasting rewards ranging from ‘absurd’ to ‘obscene’ to ‘does the kingdom even have that much gold’.

He found the one for ‘The Winter Knight’ and considered it. Much of the man’s face was hidden behind a dark muzzle, drawn in such a way the it seemed to be part of the figure’s skin, but that just made the darkly lined eyes that much more intense and angry. Short wavy hair finished the portrait. Under the drawing was a list of crimes including killing the former leader of the Holy Knights of SHIELD, consorting with demons, aiding known Demon Touched, and witchcraft.

Next to that was ‘The Captain’. Leader of the Avenging Knights, crimes included killing the former leader of the Holy Knights of SHIELD, consorting with demons, wielding demonic power, the sin of Lust, and indulging in demonic transformation (which was hilarious to Steve. He’d yet to meet anyone who ‘indulged’ in such a thing.) The picture didn’t really mesh with the crimes; The Captain looked to be a young and small man with a hairless and unlined face, wavy hair, and soft eyes.

“For fuck's sake Steve.” Bucky huffed. “Go wash the dishes if you’re just gonna stare at those posters all day. I might as well be running this place alone.”

Steve winked at his friend but did as said anyway, taking the long way around the bar and through the kitchen door so as to not step on the parts of the floor that had already been mopped.

He pretended not to notice the way the brunette was now standing in front of the notice board, leaning against the mop as he stared at the posters.

Steve let the door swing shut behind him and turned to focus on the sinks. One was already full of soapy water and the other steaming clear water and tankards, glasses, and plates were stacked high on the counter next to them. The windows over the sink were open, letting the steam and the warmth trail out and a cool wind sweep in.

Flames danced in the fireplace, heating more water and casting a warm glow over everything. They had fairy lights they could light overhead as well but Steve prefered the natural light.

It looked like every dish and piece of silverware in the place was waiting to be cleaned.

It was possible, they’d been so busy that he doubted either of them had done much by way of cleaning as the night had gone on.

Sometimes Steve entertained the idea of hiring some help, a dishwasher or dedicated server, but their oddities and lifestyle didn’t really lend itself to letting outsiders in. Plus Bucky was a complete paranoid and seemed to think everyone was out to get them.

Which...wasn’t totally out of nowhere.

He pushed up the sleeves of his tunic then slipped off his leather boots so he could put them by the back door and avoid getting them wet. He set them down then turned back to the sink, smiling ruefully.

Maybe he should have stuck to the front.

He spun on his heel, ready to go back out and tell Bucky he was going to need help with the small mountain of work, when a dry crunch coming from outside had him stopping in his tracks.

They were on top of a grassy hill, overlooking the picturesque village, right on the edge of a large forest. The trees in the forest were old, all knobby drooping limbs and rough bark, and stretched so far they seemed to scrape against the clouds. The seasons were changing and green leaves were giving way to oranges, reds, and browns and shaking free from their branches. It was pretty and reminded him of where he and Bucky were from, the kingdom further north they’d left behind decades ago.

So far no one had approach the tavern from the forest side and, when they’d gone out to gather wood after landing, the area behind them had seemed largely untouched. There were no paths cutting through it and, if you traveled south through the trees, the woods ended abruptly to become the edge of a cliff about a mile from the tavern. It was possible that someone had entered the forest elsewhere, it stretched north and south for quite a ways, but it didn’t make much sense to go through all that rough unmarked terrain to get to them when their were roads and the front entrance was unobstructed.

Steve crossed over to the back door and pushed it open, head cocking to the side, listening closely. The sun was just cresting over the horizon, staining the sky in pinks and oranges. He tuned out the sound of the rushing wind weaving through trees, the shrill shriek and wing flap of birds, and chirping of bugs, trying to find what didn’t belong. There was a shuffling noise and another crack and crunch, like dry wood snapping and leaves being stepped on, and the thumping of a heartbeat.

He closed his eyes, narrowing down his senses to focus on the source of the heartbeat. It was frantic, beating hard and fast, interspersed with harsh gasps for air and coming towards the tavern. He could taste a trace of salty-sweet sweat on the wind, the barest hint of panic flavoring it, and smell it when he inhaled.

A muffled thud made him snap his eyes open and peer out into the still dark tree line. He waited, listening as the heartbeat slowed and the breathing turned to quiet strained puffs, before stepping out of the tavern. Whoever, or whatever, it was had gone still and showed no signs of getting back up.

He cast another glance up at the sky and the steadily rising sun, then darted into the forest. It wasn’t a conscious decision but, rather, an instinct. He’d never been one to ignore someone who may have been hurt and in need, no matter the potential danger to himself.

Supposedly that was what had made him an exemplary knight and earned him his rank, status, and the loyalty of those who served under him. It had also pissed a lot of people off.

A general lack of humanity hadn’t changed any of that. If anything he was more likely to run into danger. Perhaps because the risk posed to himself was generally low (he was durable, to say the least) or maybe it was just to prove to himself that he hadn’t lost himself just yet. Not human but still a person.

The branches overhead wove together tightly, blocking out what light there was, but he didn’t need it. His eyes were made for the dark, easily adjusting so he saw the world in muted blues and blacks and twisting greens, red, and yellows wherever living things were or had left their mark.

What he was looking for stood out, large and glowing bright with warmth among other smaller heat impressions and the dark green black gloom of the rest of the world. It was about a quarter mile out, collapsed at the base of a large tree. He couldn’t see details, just the bright flaring colors that meant life, deeper red around the core and lightening and going orangish yellow in the extremities.  

He didn’t hesitate in crouching down and scooping up the body. It was a large body, solidly built and well muscles, and probably would have been heavy to a human, and a little unwieldy but soon enough he had the person tucked against him and was dashing back to the tavern, trying not to jostle them too much.

Like this, with all of his senses called on and concentrated like they were, he could hear the rush of blood just under warm skin, smell earth and tree sap clinging to the body and, mixed with that, something that was uniquely alive and fresh and sweet and metallic.

Blood, flowing from somewhere, thick and warm and he could practically taste it on his tongue.  

It made his gums itch and saliva pool in his mouth.

He pushed the wave of hunger that came with the scent and taste of blood on the air aside. He had years of practice with it, lived and worked close to the living day in and day out and never lost control.

This was no different.

There was something different about this man though. Something headier, more *there*, demanding his attention.  

He swallowed.

“Steve? What the hell?” Bucky was in the doorway, a blur of heat against a rectangle of pale yellow inside a frame of cool blue, save a few yellow squares. “Is that a person? I leave you alone for five minutes.”

He sounded angry, voice a little sharper and higher than normal, but Steve could scent the worry and fear that clung to him. He could imagine Bucky’s tightlipped scowl and narrowed eyes perfectly in his head, having been on the receiving end of that look many times.

Bucky moved aside once he was closer, letting him brush past him and into the too bright kitchen. For a moment he was blinded by the heat-light of the fire and stumbled back but in the next breath he was blinking back to ‘normal’ vision. Spots danced in front of his eyes.

The back door was shut and locked behind him then Bucky was nudging him towards the prep table, muttering furious curses in a language Steve kept saying he was going to learn but hadn’t gotten around to yet. He laid the body out on the prep table, already cleaned thankfully, then stepped back to survey what he’d found.

Brown skin, close cropped hair, full lips parted to push out quiet gasping breathes. Steve’s eyes darted lower to take thick muscular arms left bare by a sleevless tunic, a wide chest, and-

“Stop it.” Bucky grumbled, shoving him aside so he could stand over the man. “You look all of two seconds from dropping your fangs like some kind of horny teenager.”

Steve scoffed. “I do not.”

He pushed his tongue up over his canines then along his gum line just in front of them, just to be sure. Everything felt like it was in order and there was none of the not exactly painful tearing sensation that came with his canines elongating, though the itch was still there.

Once he was sure everything was fine and they weren’t on the verge of any incidents he looked back at his friend. Bucky had one hand on the man’s forehead and his brow was furrowed in concentration but, as if feeling Steve’s eyes on him, his lips quirked up into a smug half smile.

“Jerk.”

Bucky waggled his eyebrows then dropped his hand to the table top. “He’s mostly fine. Exhausted, looks like someone got a good slash in around...here.” He moved his hand to a spot just above the man’s ribcage. “Bandaged up though. Other than that just little banged up but nothing serious. You clean him up, use the arrowroot paste, and I’ll light a candle I guess.”

“Wait. That’s it?” Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You aren’t going to yell or tell me to drop him somewhere?”

“So you can ignore me and do whatever you want anyway? Even though everything I say will be completely reasonable, even though we can’t trust anyone let alone some human who you found wandering around outside at dawn who had you practically drooling, even though I’m just trying to keep you alive.” Bucky leveled an unimpressed look at him. “I’m tired and need to finish this stuff up so I’m just going to jump to the inevitable conclusion. But if he wakes up and stakes your stupid ass I reserve the right to gloat over your corpse.”

“Vampires don’t leave corpses.” Steve pointed out, pitching his voice towards ‘annoyingly reasonable’. Bucky’s left eye twitched. “We just burst into flames and turn to ash. You've killed enough to know that.”  

Of course they were both out of the vampire killing, and killing in general, business these days.

“Get the fuck out of my face.”


	2. Chapter 2

_The bookshelf swung out, revealing a narrow passageway and, when Sam leaned in and let the candle he was wearing cast it’s flickering glow inside, a staircase that went down and curved to the right and out of sight. The air was damp and stale, smelling strongly of dirt and mildew. Sam stepped back, turning to look at his father only to find the older man staring at him intently._

_King Fury’s expression was a severe one, tightness of his expression causing the long scars that ran along his forehead to under his eyepatch and over the top of his cheek to stand out, dark and shiny against brown skin. He wasn’t dressed in the usual ‘royal attire’, having opted for head to toe black that included a coat long enough to sweep the floor when he walked._

_“Father-”_

_Fury held up a hand and Sam bit back what he was going to say. “These stairs led down to the drainage river under the city. If you follow it you’ll end up on the river; head into the forest from there then follow it East until you get down into the valley then find a way to Asgard.”_

_Sam blinked. “Asgard? You can’t be serious.”_

_It was at least 3 months on foot. The time could be halved on horseback, and getting a transport to take him directly down the Rainbow River could shave another two weeks off but that was still a month just to get there in a best case scenario._

_Nevermind the fact that they hadn’t been on good terms with Asgard and it’s royal family for nearly twenty five years. Backing the church when they’d sentenced their crown prince to death hadn’t exactly put them on King Odin and Queen Frigga’s good sides, to say the absolute least of the matter._

_Fighting had broken out along the shared border and it was only the mediation of their shared ally, Wakanda, that had kept things from escalating. Even now all of their contact with the northern kingdom was through Loki, the younger son and Asgard’s church appointed ambassador._

_He’d met Loki a few times, while attending treaty and trading summits with his father, but something about the Aesir man made his skin crawl. He wasn’t looking forward to having to smile and place nice with him one day._

_“When you get there you need to have a private audience with Queen Frigga and tell her the Holy Knights have been infiltrated and can’t be trusted and that Insight is no longer in our hands.”_

_Sam shook his head; he knew all about his father’s suspicions about the Holy Knights and the World Church and, in fact, shared them. Certain factions within the Knights, the church ordained protectors of the country, had been bolstering their numbers while the other factions had been losing numbers or been sent off on apparent suicide missions in the Demon Lands. On top of that a half dozen of the nobles in line to inherit should anything happen to him or the king had died mysteriously in the past year. Now the only people left in the line were Holy Chief Pierce and Holy Knight Garrett’s son, Grant._

_“I can’t leave you here. They’ll kill you.”_

_Fury smirked. “You don’t think I can take care of myself? I’ve been dealing with coups and the occasional uprising since you were an egg in your mother’s nest.”_

_Sam stared back flatly. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the man could take care of himself, he’d been raised on stories about his father’s role in the Demon Wars that seemed so fantastical now that he was an adult he couldn’t be entirely sure they were true (though Coulson wasn’t one for exaggeration so maybe his father really had taken on a hoard of the rotting undead with nothing but a broken sword and an orb of conjured fire.) after all. He just didn’t understand why they couldn’t leave together or send someone else to Asgard._

_How was he supposed to just abandon the man who’d adopted and raised him?_

_His father’s expression changed, smoothed out and softened minutely. Nick Fury wasn’t as hard a man as people assumed (at least not where Sam was concerned.) but it was, nonetheless, a rare occasion to see softness in him. Sam blinked rapidly, eyes burning._

_“Keeping Insight from being used is more important than any one life Sam. I can’t abandon Shield when it, and the people, need me most.”_

_Sam looked down, exhaling slowly. He wanted to protest, to restart the same argument they’d been having since his father had hauled him out of bed and lead him down the winding hallways of the castle to the part the live in servants occupied. Instead he nodded, words being strangled in his too tight throat._

_His father looked like he wanted to say more but the sound of footsteps, clanging armor, and shouts made them both stiffen. Sam’s heart leapt._

_Had they been followed? Why? Did someone know they suspected something was wrong?_

_“Time’s up.” His father took his hand and pressed something into it then forced his palm closed around it; it was small and rectangular._

_It was smooth to the touch and made Sam’s hand tingle warmly where it touched his skin. The tingling in his hand swept over his body, leaving numbness in it’s wake. He tried to flex his fingers but they didn’t answer him. Tried to speak but his mouth refused to move._

_“Stay safe. Get to Frigga, get to Thor, find the other knights but if you can’t, if anything happens and it’s too dangerous for you to come back, then you go to Wakanda and stay there. No dying over an old man’s bad choices.”_

_Fury stepped back and pressed a hand against the wall. There was a grinding sound, like metal scrapping over stone, and the bookshelf began to swing back into place. Sam stood, frozen in place, as his father straightened up, running his hands over his coat, then strode away._

_The shouting grew louder, words he couldn’t make out ringing out and bouncing off the walls of the corridor. And then a loud crackpop that stole the breath right from Sam’s lungs._

_The bookshelf, which appeared as heavy dark stone on the side he was now on, fit into place with a subdued thud._

_\---_

Sam woke up all at once, chest painfully tight and straining to breath. A shout was threatening to burst out of him, eager to finally tear and claw itself free of his throat after being held so tight inside of him. He swallowed it down and clenched his fists in the sheets tangled up around him; he couldn’t afford to scream or cry out or feel even a moment of weakness, not now, not while he was

Sheets?

He looked around frantically as he pushed himself into a sitting position, heart beating so hard against his ribcage he was half afraid it might break through. He was in a room, in a bed, for the first time in days. It was a small room, sun streaming through the large open windows and spreading over him warmly. A cool breeze blew in, brushing softly over his heated skin.

The sheets he was on were rough against his skin and the mattress was on the hard side but after days alone, catching snatches of ‘rest’ out in the forest, on the ground or up in the trees, whenever he could manage it felt like a cloud underneath him.

There was a desk and a chair, with his pack hanging from the back, in a far corner and a small bedside table within reaching distance of him. There were green candles, arranged in a triangle, that had been allowed to burn down and form thick waxy pools on the wood, and a pitcher and a glass on it. He craned his neck and saw there was water inside the pitcher and, for a moment, entertained the idea of getting a drink. His throat was dry and when he drew his tongue over his lips he could felt a stinging as he swept over the cracks.

Moving around caused an itchy pulling feeling on his skin and, when he looked down, he saw he’s lost his shirt at some point and the cloth he’d wound around his chest. He pressed a hand against the skin, lips parting in confusion. The day before the wound hand been a long jagged splitting of the skin that continued to sluggishly ooze blood but now it was closed. There was a long line of puckered skin and faint licks of pain when he pressed into it, but it was healed nonetheless.

How-

The creaking of the door being opened drew his attention from the healed flesh. His heart leapt again and panic gripped him; he scanned the room again hoping to see something, anything, that would serve as a weapon but nothing new revealed itself.

“Oh! You’re awake.” He looked back at the door then stopped, blinking owlishly.

He wasn’t sure what’d he’d been expecting but it wasn’t anything so...nice looking. The man walking into the room was tall, muscular, broad shoulders leading down to a trim waist. He was smiling widely at him, showing off straight even teeth. He had bright blue eyes, warm golden skin, and messy dark blond hair.

He was holding a tray with food that, now that Sam was aware of it, smelled amazing in one hand and a dark glass jar with a cork stopper in the other.

“How are you feeling? You were a little scraped up but I cleaned up your wounds and put some salve on what I could easily get to.” The man continued. He strode over and put the tray on the desk then dragged the chair the short distance to the bed and sat down. He held up the jar. “Wasn’t sure you’d appreciate me taking off your pants so I left them but I brought up more of the salve if you need it.”

“No I’m fine, thank you.” Sam responded automatically, years of social training loosening his lips. He swallowed, licking his lips again. “How did I get here?”

‘Here’ didn’t look like any of the places in the capital, everything was warm and bright instead of heavy dark stone, the windows were large and not narrow slits in the wall, the furniture built slim and made of pale wood instead of the chunky dark browns and reds he was used to. It didn’t make sense; he wasn’t so far from the capital that the architecture should have been so different.

Moreover he’d been keeping to the forest once he’d made it that far, both to avoid detection and to keep innocent people from getting involved. There shouldn’t have been any buildings, or people, out where he was. Though, perhaps, he’d strayed closer to the edge of the forest than he’d meant to. He was getting tired, lack of sleep, his injury, and thinning rations weighing on him. He’d been moving slow, not covering the ground he should have been, and panic had been starting to set in.

“I brought you in from outside.” The blond said, tilting his head to the side. “The forest isn’t the best place to recover from someone trying to stab you.”

Sam looked down again, fingers ghosting over the line of healed skin. “It was more of a graze than a stab.”

The man’s eyebrow went up. “Kind of deep for a graze.”

It had happened the day before. He’d known he was being chased, had become aware that his pursuers were slowly closing the gap, so he’d kept mostly to and above the trees, moving at night and doing his best to not leave any signs of himself on the ground. He wasn’t aware of any knights who took to the air as easily as he did so it had seemed safe, if not tiring, to do so.

The arrow that he’d just barely managed to not get skewered by while resting in a tree the day before had begged to differ. It was only his exceptional eyesight, catching a glint of metal from the arrowhead, that had kept him from taking the full brunt of the arrow and even then faster than human reflexes hadn’t completely saved him.

He’d taken off and flown until his side was a mess of white hot pain, skin and muscle stretching and flexing painfully with each beat of his wings, and his tunic was plastered to his skin with blood. Flying had, undoubtedly, made the wound worse. He’d landed and torn up one of his other shirts to wrap the wound and got rid of the bloody one but he’d been unable to fly again after.

He’d tucked his wings away and started walking, all too aware of the fact that he was moving much slower than he could afford to. He’d done his best to stay on his feet all day and through the night, unwilling to stop for longer than it took to take a drink or eat something.

He felt himself falling short with every step; barely a week in and he was failing at what might have been his father’s final request. Asgard was barely any closer than it’d been when his father had shut him in that passageway and it felt further with every step he took.

“Seems to have healed well enough.” He dropped his hand and sighed. “I owe you a thank you.”

He clearly hadn’t been in a good state the night before if someone had managed to carry him out of the woods and strip him without him waking up. Something in the arrow perhaps, he hadn’t even considered poison at the time and wasn’t that just foolish of him?

But now he felt fine. Better than fine, even.

“I’m Steve, by the way. You’re in Friday, my tavern.” Bright blue eyes fixed on for a moment, so intense he felt like the man was staring straight into him. He looked away, strangely uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “You got a name?”

“What? Oh. I.” Sam stuttered, unsure of what to say. He was, after all, supposed to be keeping away from people and running from, who knew how many pursuers. But it wasn’t as if a name was going to be his undoing. “Sam.”

“Sam.” Steve repeated slowly, as if trying it out or tasting the word. Something about the man’s tone sent a shiver down Sam’s spine and when he risked another look he found himself on the receiving end of another toothy grin.  

“How long was I out?” Sam asked, forcing himself to focus. Now wasn’t the time to be getting charmed by tavern owners.

He didn’t have time to waste, for one, but there was also the fact that whoever was chasing him might have a chance to catch up. The distance he’d covered in the air would buy time and hopefully cover his path but he’d thought that before and been proven wrong.

Clearly the Holy Knights had more at their disposal than he’d thought. His fault for being so naive; he’d never been all that interested in the church or the knights and he didn’t know as much about their ranks as he should have.

“Few hours. It’s just about noon now.” The man said, glancing towards the window.

Sam cursed then, ignoring the curious look he got from the blond man, threw back the sheets. The man leaned forward, moving with surprising speed, and put a cool hand in the middle of Sam’s chest, pushing him back gently.

“I’m sure you’re eager to get back to running from whoever is chasing you-”

“What makes you think I’m being chased.” Sam asked, tone sharper than he intended it to be. Did this man know who he was? He was the prince, yes, but Sam wasn’t so arrogant as to think that meant everyone knew him. A lot of the further out communities had seen paintings or drawings of him, yes, but unless a person had ventured to the capital city it was impossible they knew what he really looked like.

This earned him a bland stare punctuated by a look at his chest.

Okay, that was fair enough.

“I have to go. The people after me are…” He trailed off, shaking his head. They were what, members of the Shield Holy Order? Answered direction to the World Spirit Church? Had probably killed the king?

Speaking badly about Holy Knights was the sort of thing that could make someone willing to take him into their home and patch him up turn around and be willing to turn him in.

“Dangerous.” Is what he settled on. “Willing to kill.”

The man opened his mouth then stopped, hand dropping away, twisting around to stare at the window again. “Is that right?”

Sam opened his mouth but the sound of voices had him turning towards the window as well, eyes widening. They sounded close and like they were coming closer, words drifting up through the open window.

“Is this place new? I don’t remember seeing it last time we were in town.”

“Does it matter? The trail leads here. Let’s get inside and find the prince.”

“Stay here.” Steve said, rising to his feet. “We’ll take care of this.”

Sam doubted that but he waited until the blond left the room before getting to his feet. The world tilted and his stomach clenched as his legs tried to decide whether they felt like supporting him or not; he grabbed the bedside table to steady himself until the dizziness faded. He couldn’t just stay in bed and wait to be dragged out or let someone nice, and stupid enough, to try and help him out get caught up in whatever was about to happen next.

He took a second to make sure his weapons were still in his bag before pulling on a shirt and his boots. He holstered his short sword and side arm on his belt then made for the door. He felt better than he had the day before, all of the aches and pains gone. He was positive he could let out his wings and taken off without issue but that wouldn’t work. He’d been trying to avoid fighting at all costs but that just wasn’t an option anymore.

It was his duty to protect his people at all costs and, in this case, that meant getting those knights away from there and then seeing what could be done with them.

It was what his father would have done.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve pushed through the door and walked into the front room to find Buck standing next to the door, back against the wall, pistol in hand. Bright silvery metal was creeping over the fingers of one hand, flesh hardening and becoming small interlocked plates.

Steve eyed him warily. “You think you’re going to need all that?”

He could hear the people outside speaking as he ran down the stairs to the main level of the tavern but the words were meaningless to him. It was silly human chatter and things like that just didn’t matter to him anymore, try as he did to not think of himself as ‘apart’ from the living. What did matter was that they were in his territory and intended to pose a threat to the person he’d brought into his home. It made him angry in a twitchy primal way.

Yet, even though he was just as unhappy as Bucky was about a bunch of knights on the verge on intruding on their home, he wasn’t sure jumping directly to weapons and magic without even trying to talk their way out of it was the way to go.

Which was, perhaps, hypocritical of him. He’d been rushing headlong into fights and getting rescued by Bucky his entire life but things were different now. They were different.

“I think I don’t fucking want fucking Holy Knights of fucking Shield in my fucking tavern.” Bucky hissed back, eyes blazing. Steve wisely didn’t say anything in return, not wanting to have to explain a bullet wound to the swiftly approaching group outside. “You’re an idiot, you know that? You can’t ever just leave well enough alone and heaven forbid you come across someone in trouble who has a pretty face. This is just like with Peg-”

“You think he’s pretty?” He broke in. He knew what his friend was about to say and he couldn’t think of any conversation he wanted to have less.

They very rarely talked about their lives before, when Steve had been alive and Bucky had been happier, and when they did they didn’t talk about Her anymore. Once upon a time they had talked about her, kept her memory alive with stories and painful laughter but that had stopped so many years ago.

It wasn’t that they wanted to forget or that the specter of her wasn’t hanging over everything. It wasn’t that he couldn’t hear her soft accent sometimes or see the was she set her jaw and her eyes blazed with fire when she was commanding the men who answered to her when he closed his eyes. It wasn’t even that it hurt to talk about her or that they both carried around the guilt and shame of failing her.

Worse than all of that, it was that it hurt less now. That all the things he remembered were fading and going fuzzy around the edges. Where once there had been an empty hole that nothing could fill there was just a dull ache and he didn’t know what to do with that.

“I hate you. I hate you so much Stevie, you can’t even begin to fathom it.”Bucky said and the anger in his voice was forced, an attempt to fall back into the usual sniping rhythm. Steve pulled up a smile he didn’t feel. “When this is over I’m going to move to a quiet spot in the country and forget I ever met you.”

Someone knocked on the door in a firm commanding rhythm. Steve drew a deep breath into lungs that had little use for it then breathed out before he flicked the lock on the door. Bucky’s face went blank as he pressed himself closer to the wall; he’d be just out of sight if Steve stood in the doorway.

He pulled the door open just enough to be fully visible, smile firmly in place, and looked out at the group in front of of his home. They were young and that made his heart sink just a little. Fighting kids was never something he wanted to do.

They were all wearing the familiar cream and black edged tabard that marked them as apprentices to one of the Holy Knights; the stylized eagle patch over their hearts identified them as part of the Shield kingdom and the large crest on the tabard was their Knight’s sigil. He didn’t know who exactly the large hammer and anvil were supposed to represent but he had a glimmer of an idea.

A glimmer he hoped was wrong because if someone had actually given apprentices to Justin Hammer of all people-

“We are apprentice knights under Holy Advisor Justin Hammer.” The young man at the front of the pack declared. Steve nodded his understanding while looking at his friend out of the corner of his eye.

Bucky mouthed ‘Hammer’ then did something complicated with his face that was somehow disgust, disbelief, and amusement all at once. Steve understood it completely.

If Stark ever heard that Hammer was in his old position he’d, without a doubt, crawl out from whatever hole he’d slithered into and try to raze the capital city with his machines in one of his infamous temper tantrums.

“We believe a fugitive of the church is here and, with authority granted by decree of the king, we will be searching the premises.” The apprentice repeated it mechanically and Steve had no doubt it had been memorized word for word.

He leaned heavily against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. He kept his smile open and easy, as if he wasn’t physically blocking them from entering. “A fugitive from the church? What’d they do?”

He heard the creak of the stairs behind him. He didn’t dare look, knowing that no one else would have the senses to hear it, but he did allow himself a moment of annoyed reflection. For all that he was supposed to be a great leader and military mind he had a real problem getting people to listen to him when he told them to stay out of things. What exactly was so hard about ‘Stay here’ that no one he ever told to do just that could manage it?

“I’m not sure what concern that is of yours.” Was the prompt response. Steve’s eyebrow went up at the snappish tone. “Please be aware that interference or harboring this fugitive will be considered a terroristic act and we will not hesitate to use any force needed. It is within our authority to do so.”

Steve only just suppressed his laughter at that but it must have shown on his face because the bland look the apprentice was wearing melted into something tight and angry. He took a step forward, bringing himself well within his personal space.

“No one here but me, pal. Sorry.”

“We know he’s here. Our archer, Hawkeye, hit him with a tracer arrow-”

Steve stood up straight, hands unconsciously curving into fists. “What?”

Bucky stirred from his spot against the wall and the air grew frigid around him.

The younger man smirked, clearly misunderstanding what had caught Steve’s attention. “I said our archer hit the pri-the fugitive with a tracer arrow. He left a trail right to your tavern.”

Steve noted the slip; they’d mentioned a prince when he’d them walking up as well, and then set it aside. “You said Hawkeye?”

“Ezekiel!” One of the other apprentices, a young woman who barely looked old enough to have joined the church at all, shouted. “Someone just went into the woods!”

Steve didn’t move or let his expression falter. He did close his eyes for a moment and push his awareness past the tavern, searching for- There it was. The heartbeat he’d listened to while watching the man he’d brought in sleep for hours. Quicker now and rapidly moving away.

He opened his eyes back up. The leader of the group, Ezekiel apparently, seemed to have forgotten all about him because he was ordering everyone into the forest. They took off, running for the tree line.

He started to step out, intent on following them, when the sound of footsteps made him stop and turn around back to look at Bucky who was walking towards the kitchen door.

“Buck?”

The other man fixed him with a flinty look over his shoulder. “We need to know if this archer is really Hawkeye. If it is...”

The handgun in his hand faded into nothing but smoke as he spoke but he was only unarmed for a second. In the next moment he flexed his metal hand and a scoped rifle appeared in it. At first it was a gleaming thing made of ice then the ice cracked and fell away to the floor leaving dark metal in it’s wake.

He stared at the weapon, a strange empty feeling opening up inside of him. It had been a long time since he’d seen Bucky use his magic to call a weapon and even longer since he’d seen that particular weapon. He wanted to make a joke, ask if his friend was sure he could still use that thing, but the words tasted like ash in his mouth.

Because of course Bucky could still use it. He’d been one of the best shots around, second to only Hawkeye in skill, and a countless number of demons and monsters had fallen into his crosshairs and been killed. It came as naturally to him as breathing did to some other people.

That wasn’t the kind of thing that a person forgot.

And he would use it. If he went out there and Hawkeye fell into his sights he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. Someone had betrayed them 25 years ago, had caused most of them to become the very monsters they’d fought against, made it necessary to do things they’d never imagined themselves doing, and chased them away from the lives they’d built for themselves. If they ever found that person, former friendships be damned, they would kill them.

“I’m going up top.” Bucky said, drawing Steve’s attention back up to his face. His eyes were hard and devoid of all the exasperated humor they usually held, twins chips of clouded ice. He didn’t wait for a response before pushing through the door.

Steve’s stomach twisted and the sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs but he ignored it. He could worry about Bucky, and the lingering specter of whoever had betrayed them, later. He ran out of the house and into the forest, once again narrowing his focus to that heartbeat.

He was fast and wasn’t hindered by things like underbrush and uneven landscape or breathing like the would be knights were. He caught up the apprentice knights easily. They had begun to spread apart before they’d even hit the trees, the faster and more physically stronger of them pulling ahead while the others lagged behind. They were crashing through the underbrush, stumbling over rocks and leaves, and breathing heavily.

Stealth, it seemed, wasn’t something they were teaching knight recruits anymore and wasn’t that a pity? Natasha would have been disappointed.

Not that he had ever been all that stealthy in life, preferring a more upfront approach to combat, but now he was made for it; he blended with the shadows the trees cast and wove around obstacles with ease. He kept just to the edge of the loose line they’d formed to noisily cut through the forest, using their own distraction and thundering footsteps to unnoticed as he ran past them.

It helped that they appeared to all be unenhanced and non-magic using humans; some apprentices joined the church with magical knowledge but it was a rare thing because of the blurry line between ‘Magic in the Name of the Church’ and ‘Witchcraft’.

Once upon a time Steve had actually thought the line wasn’t all that blurry and even made sense but now he could see it really boiled down to using magic to do things that benefited the church versus any other use.

A lot about the way he viewed the world had changed since the Demon Wars. He could look back and see he’d done things he wasn’t proud of in the name of his kingdom and that he hadn’t asked nearly as many questions as he should have. He’d seen humanity, the Aesir, and their allies as the little guy, pushed around by the ever encroaching demon hoards of the far north, and he’d always hated bullies so fighting back had come easily.

Too easily maybe.

There was a lot more to war than good and bad, tiny guys and bullies, or even humans and demons.

The first shot came when he well past the group, nearly back out of the forest; he could see the open grassy area that came right before the drop off into the valley peeking at him through the trees. There was a sound, a dull wet thud, and then one of the apprentices stumbled, crying out shrilly. Steve could smell blood on the air and hear a crack, like ice under pressure, followed by a louder scream, that one from a different recruit.

Steve skidded to a stop when he emerged from the trees, brow furrowing in confusion when he realized the clearing was completely empty. He was right on top of the heartbeat and he could smell Sam, sweat and pine, but he didn’t see-

A large shadow fell over him, followed by a whispery rustle. He glanced up absently, mind filled with thoughts of invisibility magic and camouflage. At first there was only a dark shadow set against the sun but as it came closer, falling towards him fast, it took shape. His eyes widened.

“Oh.”

Sam dropped from the sky above, large golden brown wings outstretched around him. He was coming down fast and yet he seemed to just barely touch the ground, landing so gently the grass underfoot didn't rustle. 

"What are you doing?" His looked annoyed, lips drawn into a tight line.

"Well," Steve started sheepishly. "I thought I was coming to save you."

Sam quirked an eyebrow. 

 


End file.
